Permanence
by harmonyhadafallout
Summary: She knew he'd been shouldering the grief in silence and seclusion. Something inside him had shattered, threatening to kill the person he had become. The permanence of loss could destroy him, but she wouldn't let it.
1. Drifting

**A/N:** This is my first attempt at a multichapter story, though it is not going to be all that long. I had a specific idea in mind that I'd intended to just be another oneshot, but the more I thought about it the more I knew it'd be too long to pass off in one chapter. Anyway, I hope that you enjoy reading it. I really appreciate any and all feedback!

* * *

"Why'd you leave?"

His shaky voice was so quiet he could barely even tell if he'd just asked the question. He stared down at his hands, clenching and unclenching them so tightly he thought the skin of his knuckles might tear at any moment.

Silence. Nothing but the sound of crickets and the rattling of leaves in the thick, humid night.

He was biting his bottom lip, drawing blood, awaiting an answer that he knew wouldn't come. He'd felt the gloom filling his stomach, moving upwards to his chest and now it was pervading his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing them to keep the salty tears at bay. He knew how this would end. The same way as always.

Alone.

"Just… wha'do I do?"

His mind was racing, head spinning, all of the insults and abuses he'd been holding onto all this time trying to push their way out. He brought a trembling hand to his forehead that was beaded with sweat and grasped his hair tightly, his eyes remaining closed. The spinning worsened and he felt his legs might give way at any moment. The pressure in his chest… his heart was pounding so fast. A knot had formed in his throat and he was choking, gasping for air, teeth gritted. The fucking tears were coming.

He sank to his knees. The pulsing sorrow that ached to overtake him seemed to be dragging him down towards the earth but he still had enough strength to steady himself, palms placed firmly on the ground. Despite the lack of chill in the air, his body shivered fiercely as he attempted in vain to catch his breath. He'd never hyperventilated before but damn if his body wasn't trying.

"You… you abandoned me…"

His strength was failing him fast. He was crumbling from the inside out, the misery latching onto every fiber of his being, forcing the weak words out of him. What was the point of trying? None of his demands or assertions would change anything. They never did. He let his arms unlock and collapsed forward, his head resting on the dewy grass, chest heaving violently. The tears finally emerged, and when they did, they came in unending waves. The emotion erupting from him was so much stronger than any physical pain he'd ever felt, so demanding and consuming as it attempted to suck the air from his lungs. He allowed himself to finally just give up and fall to the ground, the wet earth dirtying his clothing. It was as if his body was trying to fold up within itself, to disappear totally as he curled up, knees straining to reach his chest, head tucked inward, face buried in his hands.

He wanted to shut his brain off, wanted to silence the screaming that emanated throughout his mind just burning to burst from his raw throat, wanted to put an end to the constant stream of degrading memories that kept resurfacing, wanted to take every nasty thing he'd ever done back, wanted to erase all of his memories, wanted everything gone. He wanted to be gone.

He didn't know how long he'd been on the ground before the tears and strangled sobbing had ceased. He lay there, unmoving, blank-faced and numb, his body attempting to sink below the earth. His mind had finally slowed to the point that he figured it was finally just going to shut itself off. Closing his eyes after what seemed like an eternity of not blinking, he took in an unsteady breath, wishing once more that it could be his last. But he knew things couldn't be that easy. They never were. He knew that the only way to end his despair was by his own hands, but he would never do it. He'd accepted that he was too weak, too pitiful, too unworthy of even going his own way. He deserved to live and die with the pain he'd always known.

Soaked to the bone by the point he'd finally resolved to stop being so pathetic, he attempted to push himself off the ground to rise but only managed to prop himself up on an elbow. His didn't want to look, but his eyes did as they pleased. His gaze traveled from his hand, clutching a patch of grass, to where the grass was ripped apart, the earth disturbed, finally resting on the dilapidated wooden cross he'd erected in the field.

* * *

Daryl gasped, his eyes shooting open as his body violently jerked him awake. He brought a hand up to rub his eyes, his vision still blurred slightly from sleep. His breath struggled to keep time with the racing of his heart as he tried to register his current location. He was freezing… he sat slouched against one of the ice-cold walls of the guard tower. That in addition to the incessant gusts of wind over the prison must have caused his body temperature to dip drastically in his sleeping state.

"You alright?"

Daryl glanced up to see Carol leaning against the railing, rifle slung over one shoulder as she curled her arms around her small frame tightly in a futile attempt to keep herself from shivering. She looked on at him, her head tilted to one side, eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"You let me fall asleep?" he asked gruffly, his voice still raspy from sleep as he placed a hand on the ground to help himself up. His legs tingled in pain, almost, having fallen asleep right along with him. He rubbed his stiff neck as he scanned the prison yard.

"Must've needed it… turned around and you were out like a light," Carol responded, shrugging a shoulder, a small smile playing on her lips.

"It's not safe! What if somethin' happened and I'm sittin' there passed out, not ready?" Daryl demanded, though his voice was low. He was extremely irritated but tried not to let it show; it wasn't Carol's fault he'd drifted to sleep like an idiot. She should've known better than to let him stay that way, though. She should've told him to get his ass up, immediately.

Carol watched the sunken-eyed man with concern as he wandered to the other end of the balcony. She'd been trying to choose her words around him carefully, lately, as he seemed to be closing himself off and retreating from the group on a daily basis. It wasn't a surprise that he had taken an immediate dislike to the close quarters he now shared with their new guests, and he seemed to be doing anything to keep himself away from them. But Carol was determined to keep him grounded – she felt like it was almost her responsibility now to make sure he didn't pull away like he'd attempted to do at the farm. The circumstances and setting may have changed, but she knew that the underlying reasoning was the same.

Loss.

There hadn't been much to say when Daryl had returned to the prison without his older brother. They all knew he wasn't going to talk openly about it; he had never been that way. Despite his hesitant willingness to begin speaking more often around his new family over the months they'd spent together on the road, this pain was not something he was going to share with them. He'd shoulder the grief in silence and seclusion rather than the fury he'd displayed back at the quarry. Carol knew the finality of his brother's disappearance had shattered something inside him. She felt a pang of sorrow resonate through her, the memory of her daughter staggering from the old barn materializing. The permanence was what destroyed you.

Though she knew he appreciated her presence greatly over the rest of them, she thought it best to leave him be for the time being to check up on the others. That was the excuse she'd given herself, anyway. She really just wanted to allow him that which he desired – time alone. Still... Maybe she'd mention to Rick that he should have a word with Daryl, try to persuade him to give himself a break to sleep. She already hounded him enough about eating; she didn't want to start nagging about all the other aspects of taking care of himself.

"It's crazy how it's gotten so cold so fast," she stated, watching him pace slowly along the balcony. "It's getting to be a little too chilly for me. I might head inside for a bit."

Her attempts to hint at the fact that she was leaving went unnoticed, or at least, didn't evoke any reaction she was seeking. Daryl didn't respond other than offering a quick quirk of his lips, continuing to stare unblinkingly at the forest's edge.

"Not going to fall asleep again, are you?" she joked quietly. Her thin smile waned almost immediately, seeing him narrow his eyes in disgust, clearly unamused. She knew it was time to go. Sighing, she turned silently and made a hasty departure down the staircase.

Daryl turned to look back over his shoulder once he'd heard her footsteps fade from the stairwell and watched her walk briskly to the courtyard. He breathed heavily, rubbing a hand over his eyes. The grasp this anguish had on his heart was becoming increasingly oppressive, slowly infecting the rest of his being.

He'd never wanted to talk to someone more in his life.


	2. Toxicity

**A/N:** I'm sad that it took me this long to get this chapter out but hopefully the next chapter will not take as long since I have a clear idea of where I'm heading now. Thanks so much for the reviews, favorites, and follows I got for the first chapter! It means a lot to me. :)

* * *

It'd seemed like a good idea at the time. Actually, it wasn't even an idea so much as an urgent, fleeting emotion that had risen in his gut the moment his eyes flashed over the untouched bottle sitting atop the dusty shelf. That _need_ he hadn't felt in so long flooded his chest, clouded his mind, and then he was reaching for it. He only glanced momentarily at the label as the caramel-colored liquid sloshed within its container before stuffing it in his small rucksack. Did it really matter what it was?

_As long as it gets me drunk, it'll do._

The bottle had been stuck in his thoughts all day. He'd kept it tucked within the bag secured to his bike so that he could retrieve it later that night, after taking care of all of his other daily duties. He couldn't very well keep it with his things in the tower since he'd be too tempted to break into it while on watch, and he was not willing to allow anyone to stumble upon it within his prison cell, though he didn't keep much there anyway. His bike was the only logical choice.

It felt as though dusk should be nearing quickly as Daryl emerged from the prison, but winter had snuck up on them and cast a stale, gray pall over everything, warping everyone's sense of time. The sky had been in a perpetual state of looking as though it would let snow fall at any moment, but only gave way to a few flakes here and there. It was beginning to get frustrating, especially since the scent of winter, of ice and ash, lingered in the air, taunting Daryl who longed to finally see the rotting land covered in pure, untouched white. He sighed, gazing across the courtyard through the fences, eyes skimming the now yellow and brown grass as he walked towards his bike.

A feeling had been overtaking him the closer night got with the knowledge that he'd soon be able to temporarily escape, if not just shut off his mind for a bit. He'd been imagining the first bitter gulps and the burning of his throat all day, the way the endless thoughts of moans and gnashing teeth would start to drift away the closer he got to the bottom of the bottle. Each step nearer to his bike sent waves through his chest and stomach, radiating through his whole body… excitement? Whatever it was, he didn't appreciate it.

_Least I can drink till I stop being so jittery._

Finally reaching the bike, Daryl crouched down to unfasten the buckles of the rucksack and lifted the flap. His stomach dropped.

"Fuck!" he hissed, hands shaking slightly as he rummaged through the relatively empty bag. It was pointless rooting though it because he would've seen the bottle immediately had it been there. "What the FUCK!"

Daryl jolted upright, breathing quickly as he spun around, feeling as though someone must be watching him. Someone must've taken it and that someone must be near. His eyes swept over the darkened courtyard but there was nothing, no one. What did he really expect to see? Someone leaning against the wall with a smirk on their face as they watched him panicking over the alcohol they'd just finished? Laughing at him for stealing his prize? Seeing no one only made him angrier, so he turned back to the bike and gave a forceful kick to the black bag, but it stayed safely secured. Daryl growled, his heart pounding as he brought his clenched fists up to spread over his face.

"Take a fuckin' breath, man, Jesus Christ," he whispered.

He shook his head picturing how ridiculous he must look, standing in the pitch black by his motorcycle covering his face, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as his mind raced. He knew he wasn't an alcoholic, but the sight of that abandoned bottle of whiskey had filled him with the memories of when he and his brother had occasionally slipped into the local dive and gotten shitfaced and he was furious - - that bottle had sparked the need to feel something he hadn't in a long time and now that prospect was being ripped away from him.

_Where the hell is it?_

He shook his head, bringing his hands to rest on his hips as he stared back at the bike's open, empty bag. "Where the fuck IS it?"

Was he really losing his mind? Over alcohol? He was always so careful with his belongings, making sure never to leave anything important in plain sight. Hell, he barely had any belongings as it was. And now that he'd finally gotten something solely for himself, something for enjoyment... it'd gone missing.

"This is fuckin' bullshit," he grumbled, turning to face the fences once more. They'd since begun rattling, his short outburst alerting a few stray walkers to the life residing within the gates, but it wasn't anything the group couldn't handle in the morning. Daryl was far too concerned with something so petty as a bottle of liquor to care about a miniscule threat that he could take care of at the drop of a hat if need be. His eyes flitted halfheartedly across the courtyard, finally making their way to the base of the guard tower.

"The fuckin' tower!"

Daryl took off at almost a jog but slowed himself, feeling foolish for rushing over what was, at this point, a stupid lost cause. The thought lingered in the back of his mind, though, that he might have hidden the bottle with his things in the tower after all. He hadn't gotten much sleep over the last few months; maybe it was finally catching up to him. What a nice way for his body to tell him to go to sleep - - to fuck with his head and spoil the only semblance of pleasure he might have had in a long time. Daryl glared to himself as he entered the tower and made the quick trek up the stairwell.

He immediately saw the whiskey upon entering the tower's room, or what was left of it. The liquor was nearly gone, not even a full sip's worth remaining at the bottom of the glass container. He clenched his fists together seeing some of it splashed across the tabletop. He'd built up the idea of how his night would go so much that the sight of the alcohol spilled across the table infuriated him even more. Someone had taken it from him and they'd even gone so far as to waste part of it. He was going to kill the fucker, whoever it may be, that took this away from him.

"Motherfucker," he growled, traveling the short distance to the table and grasping the bottle tightly within his hand. He had half a mind to shatter it, but those thoughts were cut short.

"You're the motherfucker."

Daryl jumped, spinning around at the hushed, raspy voice that had startled him. His eyebrows shot up in disbelief before his anger took back hold of him. "Carl… what the fuck are you doin'?!"

The boy sat slumped in the corner of the room, legs splayed in front of him, head laying on the seat of the chair beside him with his arms wrapped around it tightly in order to keep himself propped up. "Guess tha'd be Shane, though, huh..."

Daryl cringed slightly, taken aback by what Carl had said. Deciding immediately that it wasn't a conversation he even wanted to consider, he stepped towards the drunk boy quickly and grabbed him by the shoulders to yank him up and sit him forcefully on the chair.

"Hey, wha' the hell are you doin'?!" Carl demanded, trying weakly to push Daryl away from him.

"Me?! What are YOU doin'?!" Daryl yelled back at the glaring boy. "Gettin' drunk, what the fuck! You're 13 years old for Christ's sake!"

"14," Carl corrected indignantly, turning his head away from the man in front of him.

"Whatever! You shouldn't be drinkin' in the first place!" Daryl hissed, putting his hands on his hips. The look of disgust upon Carl's flushed face was so goddamn infuriating. "Where the hell is your old man?"

"How shoul' I know? Who cares…"

Daryl's breathing had increasingly become heavier as he seethed. "Well... what the fuck, Carl." He glanced around the room, running his hands through his hair. "And you fuckin' stole that, too, you little bastard."

"So what?"

"So what?!" Unbelievable. What the hell was he supposed to say to this kid? He definitely wasn't any sort of parental figure, but even so... he knew there was no sense in arguing with someone who was drunk but if the little punk was going to treat him like shit, he wasn't going to let it slide. Daryl was grinding his teeth together as Carl stared back at him, awaiting a response. "You're s'posed to be responsible. This is bullshit."

"Yeah, well why'd you even hav'it Daryl? You were gon' drink it, huh?" Carl slurred accusingly, a hateful look in his eyes. "Respons'bl'… fuck you."

"Carl, get the hell up, man, and go the fuck back down to your goddamn cell!" Daryl shouted, having had enough. He'd never heard Carl speak this way to anyone before and there was absolutely no reason for him to be acting that way towards Daryl. Clenching his teeth together he turned to look at the prison through the tower glass and took a breath. "Your dad's gonna flip and it's gonna get turned around on me, so just get up and go the hell to sleep."

Rolling his eyes as the lack of a response, Daryl turned to look at the boy and saw that his head had drooped and his body appeared limp in the chair. Panic swept over Daryl as he just stood there. "CARL!"

His shout had elicited a response from Carl, thank God, albeit it was only a drunken murmur. Daryl scowled at the boy who'd had the nerve to fall asleep and threw the door leading to the balcony open.

_Why the fuck is this happening? Why do I gotta deal with this shit? Why can't I just ever have one night where somethin's not going wrong?_

Daryl paced back and forth upon the balcony, biting his thumbnail as he tried to think of something to do. Someone was bound to see him if he tried to carry Carl back to his cell. But he couldn't leave Carl up in the tower, mainly because he didn't want to play babysitter to a drunk. Daryl glowered at the thought as he leaned against the cold railing.

"Fuck…"


	3. Lucky

**A/N: **As always, thanks for reading, reviewing, favoriting and following :)

* * *

"Are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna clean this shit up?"

The brusque, liquored voice slipped out lowly and, to any other person, might have seemed like a simple, albeit agitated, question. She'd learned, though. She must've missed the earlier, usual warning signs for him to have reached this point.

"Answer me, bitch." The man loomed over her from behind, hot, reeking breath warming her neck. "Are you DEAF?"

The woman yelped in fear as she was shoved forward forcefully. Catching herself on the kitchen chair, she turned to face the man but wasn't fast enough. In a flash everything turned white with the severe force of a palm across her face.

"Stop!" she choked out, eyes brimming with tears as she flinched away from the now-silent assailant. "I-I'm sorry!" she sniffled, her own hands delicately rubbing her throbbing cheek as she watched the man anxiously.

Had he ever been loving, caring? A good husband? Her chest heaved with each shaky breath as she looked upon him. Sandy hair slick and pushed back as the sweat of anger and inebriation beaded his forehead. A strong, gruff jaw clenched firmly shut, moving slightly as he ground his teeth. He'd been attractive to her once, before the alcohol and aggression had started. Even now, he seemed younger than he was, only the harsh furrowing of his brows and the bags below his eyes tainting his appearance. Those light, piercing eyes that had once seemed so full of life and love now held such a loathsome gaze upon his… wife? A pang of heartache caught her by surprise at the thought, and she bit her lower lip so hard to try and keep the tears from falling.

The man still hadn't said anything, his eyes now red and glazed over. She had since let her hands drop from her tender cheek and clasped them in front of her, wringing them tightly. She watched him move the broken glass upon the kitchen floor around with his shoe and take a sip from the beer bottle in his hand. Her shoulders hunched as he stepped towards her slowly, eyes never leaving her as he polished off the bottle. Stopping mere inches from her, he held the bottle before her. She looked at him with trepidation, unsure of what was next. Just as she was making her mind up to take the empty bottle from him as she thought was his wish, he glared and threw the glass bottle to the floor, shattering it. The woman gasped and tried to recoil away, but a swift hand wrapping around the front of her throat prevented her movement. She cried out, the tears now streaming as he pressed his fingertips harder against her skin.

A stifled sob made its way from the door and the man immediately released his grasp from the woman's throat. Over the man's shoulder she could see her child's face, stricken with a look that seemed as though they'd been the one attacked, peeking in from the other room. The woman choked back the tears as best she could, glancing back to the man's unchanged face.

"It's okay, baby. Everything's fine." She hated lying to her child. "Go on back up to bed, I'll be up in a minute."

The youth lingered, staring at the man's back with tears in their eyes, unwilling to leave. Feeling the set of eyes watching him, the man glimpsed over his shoulder and cast a hateful look, his lip curling upward, which sent the child away swiftly. Turning back to eye the mute woman in front of him, he cracked his knuckles slowly and deliberately.

"You best clean up this mess," he spat callously, kicking the green shards of glass towards her. "And don't let it happen again."

* * *

"Carol…"

Her forehead was creased and her eyes squeezed shut tightly, almost as though she was feigning sleep. A shiver ran through her and she tucked her head in towards her chest, unconsciously bringing her hands to either side of her face.

"Carol."

A hand grasped at her shoulder and the firmness of the grip, though cautious as it was, evoked a cry from the woman, waking her abruptly with a jolt. She jerked back violently, one of her arms swatting out at the stranger's hand as she hid her face in the crook of her other arm.

"Hey, hey," the hushed, gruff voice immediately made her take a deep breath. She propped herself up on the elbow she'd been using as a shield and glanced towards the cell's entrance to seek out the shadowed figure of who'd entered. He was just staring at her, lips pursed slightly with a conflicted look haunting his features. She shook her head somewhat, exhaling as she blinked away a stray tear that'd escaped with her emergence from the dreamworld.

_Only a dream…_

Carol pushed herself up to a seated position, wiping the tear stain from her cheek before forcing a small smile, though she felt more concerned than anything to see him standing in her cell. He still hadn't said anything and she wasn't sure why that was… he must've come in for a reason. That familiar, almost embarrassed look painted his face as he studied the floor, searching for words.

"What's wrong?" she finally questioned as her hands fumbled along her cot, searching for the long-sleeved shirt she'd been wearing when she went to sleep. She'd woken in a sweat and deduced that she must have torn it off in the midst of her nightmare, or fever dream, or whatever horrible joke of a night's sleep her body had just given her. That heat had departed almost immediately, the chill of the winter night blanketing her exposed skin. "What is it?"

Daryl knew what the half-asleep woman was searching for; he'd spotted the maroon shirt against the wall opposite her cot when he'd first walked in. He coughed quietly, taking the few steps over to where it lay and grabbed it before tossing it over to her. Lucky for him she'd been wearing that tattered tank top below the shirt she was now yanking over her head as she quietly thanked him.

"I need your help with somethin'," he muttered finally, a sour feeling spreading through his stomach. He rubbed his forehead before looking back over at her.

"This late? What's going on?" her delicate features contorted faintly into an uneasy expression.

He didn't know what to say and it showed, his mouth hanging open as if the explanation would just materialize and fall out at any moment. But he had to think of something. There was no turning back now.

"I - - you gotta come up to the tower with me," he quickly stammered, feeling so stupid. He gritted his teeth tightly and, before giving her a chance to question him any further, spun around and left the cell.

He chewed the inside of his lip as he stepped daintily towards the staircase so as to not make any noise. He was lucky that only a few of their group - - his group - - remained in their original cell block. He was lucky that they appeared to be deep in sleep as he noiselessly moved past their respective rooms. And he was lucky, so lucky, that Rick was not one of them.

They'd hastily cleared another block upon the arrival of the Woodbury citizens and Rick had felt the need to help acclimate them to their new environment. So, though he no longer wanted the role of leader, what else could he do? They'd abruptly transitioned from a seemingly safe setting with a strong man in charge who gave them rules to follow in order to keep themselves alive whilst also maintaining a societal feel to... what? Cold, dark metal bars. Rick had no choice but to ease them into feeling safe, and night was the time at which their fear was the most heightened, especially in the children. So he stayed nearby the newcomers' block most nights.

_Nannying._

Daryl had made it to the ground level of their block before he heard the light footsteps trailing behind him. He sighed and led the way to the courtyard, the feeling in his stomach growing worse and worse with each step.

Carol's mind was still a bit hazy as she tried not to lag too far behind Daryl which, surprisingly, wasn't too difficult a task; the usually fast-paced man seemed to be dragging his feet on the way to whatever he was leading her. She rubbed her arms roughly, trying to stave off the night's iciness, though the fact that she could see her breath proved there wasn't much point in trying. The frigid wind whipping against her face was growing to be too much for her to deal with so she quickened her stride and passed Daryl to run into the tower's base.

"You're starting to worry me, Daryl," she whispered as he followed her into the base and yanked the door shut tightly behind him, sealing off the freezing air's entry. His eyes only flicked up to hers momentarily and she smiled somewhat, trying to quash the feeling that was flowing through her. Daryl had never been one to make her feel better with words, so she'd always relied on his expressions and demeanor. The quick twist of his lips with which he responded, the one she'd become so familiar with recently, never did anything to make her feel better.

He'd reached the top of the stairwell before she'd even begun the trek up, so she tried to hurry. Each step was exhausting; she felt shaky, weak, like her legs were going to crumple underneath her at any moment, so gripping the railing was vital. Not knowing what was going on was killing her. She highly doubted that anything good was awaiting her in the guard room, but how could she be sure? She never knew what to expect when Daryl Dixon was involved. The solemn look his features held as he opened the door for her didn't fill her with much hope, though.

The stench of alcohol smacked her immediately upon entering the room, confusing her. She hadn't realized she'd been holding her breath until the smell caused her to exhale sharply and close her eyes.

"_Are you DEAF?"_

She shook her head quickly and opened her eyes but the memory lingered. "Daryl, what's…"

And then she saw him. Her hands shot up quickly to cover her mouth which hung agape with shock. She glanced back over her shoulder at the silent man who did nothing but stare in the boy's direction.

"What _happened?!_" Carol demanded, hastily moving towards Carl who had since slumped down to lie on the floor. Dropping to her knees and sitting beside the boy, she leaned down to look at his reddened face, now twisted into an anguished look. "Carl? Can you hear me?"

Carl whimpered slightly and she rubbed his back gently, pushing the matted hair from his face with her other hand. Her heart had since begun pounding rapidly, more with anger than anything else, but she didn't know about what she was most angry. Currently it was the fact that the man who'd led her to deal with the sick child before her still hadn't said anything. He'd moved to the table where he stood holding an empty bottle within his hands, and that set her off.

"How did this _happen?_" she shifted to completely face Daryl slowly while still keeping a hand on Carl's back.

He turned the bottle around in his hands, trying to think of some kind of explanation. Of course, there was already an explanation he could give.

_I fucked up._

In retrospect, he probably should have thought more about what he would say to her before he brought her up to help him.

Biting his lip he finally offered the first thing he could think of to get the conversation over with, "He stole it - -"

"Stole it? From where?"

He sighed and hesitantly responded, "My bike."

"So it's yours? Why did you even have it in the first place?"

"The hell difference does it make?"

"Daryl, if you're _drinking_ - -"

"Didn't get the chance, now, did I?" he questioned almost scornfully.

Carol sat silently, glaring up at him from the floor. Her head was pounding now and she brought a hand up to rub one of her temples. Breathing in deeply she tried to calm her tone before questioning again, "Why did you have it?"

"This ain't about _me_."

"Fine, if you want to sit up here sulking all day and drink yourself stupid, that's just fine, Daryl!" she snapped, scowling at him.

Daryl mimicked her expression. "So you're gettin' off my goddamn back, now?"

"If that's what you're going to call what I've been doing, then yes," Carol replied indifferently, looking back down at the passed out boy who'd nuzzled himself closer to her.

Confused by her sudden shift in emotion, Daryl tried to steer the conversation back towards the matter at hand. "Doesn't matter, anyway. He shouldn't be takin' what's not his and - -"

"Stop blaming him! He's a child for God's sake, Daryl!"

"He ain't no goddamn child, Carol!" Daryl hissed, glowering at the drunk boy. He knew that contradicted exactly what he'd said to Carl earlier.

"I can't believe you," the woman uttered quietly, shaking her head in what appeared to be disgust.

That was enough to infuriate him - - words that seemed to drip with revulsion and, to top it off, the person who was speaking them. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been clutching the glass bottle until he saw the whiteness of his knuckles.

_One goddamn bottle did this. Why'd I have to grab this fucking bottle?!_

Clenching his jaw tightly as he stared at the bottle he, again, had the urge to shatter it across the table top. He growled lowly, knowing how stupid that would be, but he didn't want to even look at it anymore. Carol was leaning down, whispering something to Carl about trying to get up. Grinding his teeth together, Daryl quickly yanked open the balcony door, a stream of ice-cold air immediately tearing through him. Without a second thought he threw the bottle as far as he could into the darkness and gripped the railing before him tightly.

The better part of their journey back to the cell was marked by silence, other than the wind, the chainlink fence rattling, and Carl's whimpering. They'd already had to stop walking immediately upon exiting the tower so Carl could stumble over himself in an attempt to reach the grass before puking. Carol barely acknowledged Daryl's presence other than to glower over at him as she spoke soothing words to an inaudibly crying Carl.

'Lucky;' the word pervaded Daryl's mind again upon entering the cell block, seeing that no one had stirred since his entry earlier that night.

_Lucky. Yeah fuckin' right._

"Put him in my cell," Carol instructed quietly.

She chewed the inside of her cheek, glancing around the darkened area as she followed him up the stairs. She caught his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder at her before quickly facing ahead once again. She sighed heavily and followed him into her cell.

"Right there's fine," she murmured, nodding her head towards the bottom cot when Daryl looked at her with question about which cot would be Carl's for the night. She gulped, trying to force the knot from her throat as she watched Daryl place Carl on the cot that had, for a brief amount of time, been his mother's. The thought filled her with heartache and her brows furrowed involuntarily as though she might cry, but she bit her lip to keep that feeling from expanding.

Daryl straightened back up after laying Carl down and looked over at Carol. Though she didn't want to, she glimpsed from Carl's sleeping figure to Daryl's face. She sighed for what felt like the millionth time and sat on the edge of the cot, feeling emotionally drained. Daryl took the silence as his cue to go and turned to leave the cell. Looking back over his shoulder he caught her staring and couldn't discern the emotion her expression conveyed, but she didn't offer him the small smile she usually did whenever he looked her way.

Finally he nodded, looking to the ground, before turning again and quickly departing.


End file.
